Cora's Lament
by JamesLuver
Summary: After the birth of their third daughter, it is down to Robert to convince Cora that it really does not matter. Winner of a Highclere Award for characterisation of Cora.


**A/N: **I always imagine that Cora was feeling pretty worthless after Sybil's birth, not because she doesn't absolutely adore her daughter, but because she'd doubtless feel useless to Robert for not providing an heir. But I'm sure she'd learn to move beyond it with Robert's help. This is rather short, but I hope it does its job well all the same. :)

**Disclaimer: **I'm running out of ways to say, "I don't own _Downton Abbey_."

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_Cora's Lament_

She is standing by the window when he enters the room. She has been changed into her nightgown by her maid, whose presence is thankfully absent. The crib in the corner is also peaceful; Robert knows that Cora has spent the last hour attempting to soothe the baby's cries. From birth, Sybil has been much more difficult to deal with than her siblings – her screaming lungs barely give either of her parents a moment of peace. It is obvious from the way that Cora's face scrunches in utter weariness that she is tired beyond anything but she is much too proud to hand over her baby to the nurse – she doesn't like the idea of another woman putting her baby to bed. It is the job of a mother, not a nurse.

"No," she'd told him fiercely when he'd tentatively broached the subject with her, almost shouting over Sybil's ear-splitting squeals.

"It would give you a rest," he'd tried, reaching out to touch her shoulder gently, but she'd pulled away with fire in her eyes.

"No," she'd repeated. "I won't give your mother the satisfaction of knowing that I can't cope. You English like to offload your offspring onto a nurse as soon as they're born but back in America, things are different. I know your mother despises the fact but I will not have her dictating how I should care for my own children."

"I don't want to argue with you," he had told her as she'd glared at him, rocking the baby in her arms. "Look, get some rest. Let me take her for a while."

She'd glared at him for a few moments longer before relenting and passing the baby to her father. He'd taken her gladly, whisking her out of the room until she'd quietened down enough to slip back into her crib. He'd clambered into bed beside his wife, who had been sound asleep.

Now, Cora's body is tense as he moves forward slowly, mindful of how easy it is to disturbing Sybil. She is clearly a million miles away from their grand room at Downton Abbey. Slipping up behind her, Robert wraps his arms around her waist and drops his chin onto her shoulder, kissing it briefly. She sighs but does not otherwise acknowledge him. This has him worried at once. Cora is usually eager to greet him with an exuberant affection that is all American, and he enjoys the way it feels to have her arms wrapped around his waist and her head pressed into his throat.

"Is there anything wrong?" he mutters lowly into her ear, cringing at the utter stupidity of the question when he knows that there is.

Cora sighs again, a long, drawn-out sound that seems to bear the weight of the world with it. With a seemingly great effort she turns from the window, gently disentangling herself from her husband's arms as she does. The smile that she paints onto her face does not reach her eyes. "I'm fine, dear. Absolutely fine."

He frowns, taking her in his arms once more. "Cora, don't lie to me. I can tell when something is troubling you. I want to help if I can."

She sags in his arms, not responding to his embrace but thankfully not pulling away, either. "I don't want to burden you."

"I don't agree with that at all," he tells her. "I am your husband and it is only right that I bear your burdens with you."

She shakes her head again, pulling away from him almost violently as she makes her way over to the bed and sinks onto the end of it, resting her head bleakly in her hands. Robert follows her, not giving up easily. He sits down beside her, placing his arm around her shoulder and drawing her closer. His mouth finds the pale canvas of her cheek. She does not resist him.

"Please," he whispers. "Cora, darling, I hate seeing you like this. Let me help you."

For a moment he thinks that she might pull away once more. But then her eyes flicker towards the crib that holds their third daughter, and he thinks that he understands.

"Darling, you're coping wonderfully with Sybil, if that's what you're worrying about. I know she's much more of a handful than Mary and Edith ever were, but she'll calm down in a couple of months. She's tiring you out, I know, but I'm more than happy to take over a few night shifts for you if you'd rather not call the nurse so that you can rest–"

But Cora is shaking her head. Her eyes are downcast, contemplating the coverlet on her bed. Robert's eyebrows rise in confusion.

"Sybil's not the one who's troubling you?" he asks in surprise. "Then who?"

She shrugs listlessly, hanging her head. "Leave it alone, Robert. Really."

"I won't," he tells her firmly. "I can't. I'm worried about you, Cora. You'll tell me what's wrong right now. I promise you, you'll feel better if you do."

Silence reigns for a moment, broken only by Sybil's breathing in the corner. Robert knows not to push any further, all-too aware of how close Cora is to shutting down on him. The last time she was so reserved with him was a long time ago, during the first year of their marriage, where she'd been so frightened of alienating him further that she'd spent most of her time simply watching him through guarded eyes. Robert had thought that they'd left that awkward time behind them when he'd declared his love for her, but evidently he had been wrong.

Eventually, she turns towards him. The light in her eyes is dimmed, like a piece of her soul has been extinguished. His heart clenches sickeningly in his chest. The last moment of silence stretches on between them like an expanse of sea; Robert feels as though he's drowning in it.

"I've failed you." Cora's voice is agonisingly quiet, barely above a whisper. She might as well have screamed it, for those three words resonate deafeningly in Robert's head. Bile claws at his throat.

"How can you possibly have failed me?" he chokes, gathering her up more firmly in his arms. She stiffens at the more affectionate contact between them. "You could never fail me, Cora. Never."

"But I have!" she shoots back, looking agonised. "With Sybil!"

He shakes his head, trying to make sense of her words. "Cora, I don't understand. Of course you haven't failed me with Sybil; she's the epitome of health. Any man would be proud to have her as his daughter–"

"But that's just it!" she bursts out, and he stops short. "She's not any man's daughter; she's _yours_!"

Robert's brow furrows as he processes her outburst. "What are you trying to say?"

She doesn't seem to be able to meet his eye as she breathes out her greatest worry. "She's a daughter, Robert. Another daughter."

Finally, they are getting to the root of the problem. As Cora visibly wilts next to him, Robert feels his heart drop into his stomach.

"Is this what all this is about?" he asks her, and his voice wavers. "You're upset that Sybil is not a boy?"

"Aren't you?" she counters. He notices that tears have begun to well up in her eyes.

"Of course I'm not," he tells her firmly, without hesitation. "I am so proud of you for giving me such a fine daughter."

"You don't need to lie to me, Robert," Cora tells him softly. "You need a son. I know that. But I just can't seem to give you one. And I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't apologise," he snaps at her, then softens when she flinches. Cautiously, he pulls her half-onto his lap. "Cora the only thing that I've ever wanted is for you and our children to be healthy and happy."  
She sniffs. "Your mother is disappointed in me."

He tightens his hold on her. "I don't want you to listen to what my mother says. All you need to remember is that I'm perfectly happy with my wonderful girls."

"How can you be? Time is running out for us, Robert. And I haven't produced an heir for you yet."

He laughs, not unkindly. "Cora, don't be so melodramatic. Time is hardly running away with us yet. You're still young and lovely – there's plenty of time for us to produce a son."

"So you really don't mind?" Cora's voice is tremulous and hopeful all in one go.

He shakes his head, lowers his voice seriously. "I would never trade Mary or Edith or Sybil for a son. I love them all dearly. They're going to grow into fine young women with you as their mother. I couldn't have hoped for more perfect daughters."

She snuggles more securely into his embrace, and he presses his lips against her temple, stroking his hand down her arm.

"I don't want you to blame yourself for this," he tells her softly. "I want you to be able to live with the knowledge that I will cherish all of our children equally. It doesn't matter to me that we've three daughters. Don't ever let Mama or anyone ever tell you that it's not ideal. I couldn't be more content."

She surprises him by softly pressing her lips against his cheek, a silent gesture of thanks.

Robert smiles with satisfaction. "Now, let's get you to bed."

She complies quietly, slipping beneath the covers when he pulls them back for her. He follows her, wrapping her in his arms and pressing his nose against her hair.

"You do realise that we won't be able to stay long like this?" Cora's voice holds the tiniest hint of amusement, and Robert rejoices that he has succeeded in cheering her up.

"I know, I know," he sighs in reply, gently teasing. "I find it very unfair that Sybil gets more of her mother's attention than her poor father does."

"Oh, hush you," Cora giggles, her voice wobbling. She buries her head into his shoulder and clings tightly to him. "If you start talking like that then you'll never get my attention again."

"You can be rather unfeeling for an American," he laments jokingly.

"That comes with spending so much time with your mother, my dear," she teases tremulously in return.

Silence reigns again. The next time Cora speaks, her voice is barely above a whisper.

"Robert, promise me one thing."

"Anything."

"Promise me…promise me our next child will be a boy. I love all of our girls so much…but I need to know that I can fulfil my duty. Promise me."

He tightens his grip on her. He knows that it is foolish to make such promises. No one can dictate the way that nature runs. Not him. Not Cora. Not even his mother, though she'd happily die trying to. And the last thing that he wants is for Cora to feel as though it is her duty to give him a son. At one time, it might have been. But she has become so much more to him than just a duty. She is his wife, his lover. She is those things first and foremost.

"I promise," he says anyway, knowing that she needs to hear it.

He feels her smile against his neck, squeezing him more tightly in her arms. Her body relaxes against his, the tension and woe that she'd felt minutes previously draining out of her body. For a while they simply lie there together, content in each other's presence. He can tell that she is drifting off in the way that her breathing is slowing against his neck, in the way that her grip on him slackens slightly.

In a couple of hours' time, Sybil will make her presence known again, demanding to be fed. But for now, Cora can sleep with the knowledge that every one of her daughters is loved irrevocably by their father and that, in time, they will have the son that they need.

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**A/N:** I'm away for a couple of weeks as of now, but when I get back I'll be working on some new Robert/Cora 'fics. First up is_ Bed of Roses_, which has been in limbo for too long.

If you can spare the time, please review. :)


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